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Published: September 14th 2007
Today is the first day of Ramadan! This means that the Muslims (95% of the population here in Senegal) cannot eat, drink, smoke or have sex during the daylight hours. They get up at 5am to eat a meal before morning prayers and then suffer through the day until they break the fast at 7pm. I know several people who fast in Pittsburgh, and that's hard enough...but it's so hot here, and they can't even drink water!
I have always wanted to be in a Muslim country for this month-long holiday, but it turns out it's pretty boring and people get cranky. A lot of restaurants are closed and I feel so guilty carrying around my HUGE 1,5 litre bottle of water. My American body is just not cut out for this heat, and I would probably die without water. I am sure the Senegalese understand this, but I still feel bad. We also try to avoid eating in front of our families, but that too, is hard. You see people lying on the side of the road and under ever tree trying to rest and conserve energy in the heat of the day. Seriously - there are literally dozens
of people sprawled along each block! It's quite bizarre.
So, funny story. Last night, Modou (my 5 year old brother who we don't think is all that bright) was in my room and said something in Frolof (French and Wolof) to me. He said something big ran across my room and went behind my wardrobe. I asked him if it was a lizard and he said yes. I figured it was Chase, the gecko that lives in my room. Modou runs to get his 8 year old brother, who proceeds to tell me Modou saw a mouse in my room. They go get yet another brother (the 19 year old) who comes in with a broom and starts pulling my wardrobe away from the wall. After searching and searching, we unlock one side of my wardrobe and a GIGANTIC (I'm talking an easy four inches of rotund insect here) cockroach is there. The next two minutes were quite comical as the four of us yelped and jumped and tried to get the bug out of my room. Michelle stood in the courtyard and laughed at us.
This morning, I wake up and see a curiously dark spot on
the floor. I creep over and yup, it's the brother of the cockroach we encountered last night. I tried to find Assan (the expert cockroach remover) but of course, he's asleep. I quickly look up the necessary words in my dictionary (the best 10,000cfa I ever spent) and find Yaandée, our maid. I said "Assan, moom, mungi nelaw? Mboot ci néeg" (which translates to: Assan, he sleeps? Cockroach in room. My Wolof skills are not good enough to say things like "please help me" or "I have" Hopefully I'll learn that before the next cockroach incident!) The maid laughs at me (she thinks Michelle and I are really funny) and quickly flips the cockroach on its back so it can't scurry away and the flicks it out of my room. We'll see how long my room remains cockroach free...
And finally, let me just say that I hate bureaucracy and red tape. Senegal is laid back about everything, but not confusing, time-consuming red tape. Plus, the people in charge of handling these matters operate on Senegalese time, so my simple trip to the post office took 45 minutes (after a half hour of trying to find the special post
office they sent my package to). Jen and I were ushered from person to person, clutching my package slip until we finally were told to go back through all these doors into the interior workings of the post office. We had to knock on the head director's door, greet him, carry on small talk (how are you? how's the heat today? how is your family? are you enjoying life? what is your name? no, your Senegalese name!) He then hands me the three customs forms my mom filled out in the US and stamps and signs them.
Jen and I are then ushered into the customs office. We carry out the 7 minutes of required chatting before he tells us to go find a man named Mansor. We then greet Mansor, who is very upset that Jen does not have a Senegalese name and makes ME give her one. After being renamed, we get the custom forms stamped and signed again before being ushered to another part, further in the bowels of the post office. Here we meet three men, introduce ourselves as Marième and Aminata and get asked about the family, etc. More signatures and stamps, and then a dagger is pulled out to cut open my package. We go find another very tall man who is quite interested in our ages and the fact that we are only three weeks apart makes us twins (obviously). After discussing our ethnic backgrounds and our studies here in Senegal, he digs through my package and declares that I must pay 2500cfa in customs tax. They tell us to go back into the room where my package was cut open, and I pick up my package and we get ready to leave. OH NO! They yell out nicely. This is not how we do things here!
More stamps and signatures later, I am the proud owner of more slips of paper that allow me to pay 1000cfa more in post office taxes. We wind our way out of the labyrinth of rooms only to find that there is no one at the payment window. Finally, we pay, move down two more windows and get more stamps and signatures...and then my package!! We snatched that package and left before anyone else could ask us about the heat or inquire about our Senegalese names. As we ran down the front steps of the building, I was half expecting someone to call us back in for more small talk and red tape formalities. I am sure by the end of the semester, the very nice men in the post office will know us by name and invite us to have tea while we spend our entire Friday afternoon in the customs offices.
Up next? We have to fight through more red tape (both Senegalese and Malian) as we work to obtain visas for our fall vacation. God help us!
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karin
non-member comment
oi vay, kate
life is never dull for you!